


Draftbook Drabbles- Olitz GoT (Game of Thrones) AU

by CMW2



Category: Scandal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Draftbook Drabble Series, Execution, F/M, Fitzgerald Grant - Freeform, Interracial Relationship, Jake Ballard - Freeform, Mellie Grant - Freeform, Mild Gore, Mild Kink, Mild S&M, Olitz, Olitz AU, Olitz GoT, Olitz awesome domesticness, Olitz being BAMFs, Olitz citrus, Olitz kisses, Olitz tenderness, Olivia Pope - Freeform, Season 1-4 Spoilers and Allusions within, Trumpetnista, Wedding Night, Women In Power, jealous!Fitz, possessive!Liv
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:39:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMW2/pseuds/CMW2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words from the Gladiator in a Hoodie: The Draftbook Drabble project began as a way to brace for impact for the Season 3 finale and then, it became a way to soothe the pain and rage the aforementioned Finale and overall season caused me and others. Since then, it has blossomed into a huge series and I'll be making chapter fics out of the connected one shots to make them easier to find. All works with their individual summaries (and my patented ranting Author's Notes/Episode Reviews) can be found on FFN and on my LiveLoveWRITE Tumblr. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**CMW2/Trumpetnista:Draftbook Drabble #2 (AU, GoT-esque period piece, Fitz, Olivia, Olitz arranged marriage ceremony and wedding night)**

****Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"** **

 

 

Cords of scarlet, gold, black, emerald, and white were looped repeatedly over their crossed wrists and entwined hands. The side of the ceremonial clearing claimed by her people erupted into vigorous song and dance. It was a traditional wedding (or as they called it 'Bonding') blessing and the ram that had been slaughtered and anointed earlier was set ablaze on its alter, thick smoke rising upwards.

Each cord represented an ideal within their society. Scarlet represented warfare. Gold represented the main Sun deity that they worshiped faithfully. Black represented the velvet backdrop against the stars they used to chart the course of time. Emerald represented fertility of the land that they cultivated. At the center was a cord of white, representing the marriage bond, the purity and strength of love. All of the loose ends of the thick cording were gathered upwards and a steady drumbeat sounded as the Priestess began to tie their Knot. Following his bride, he rose back up onto his knees and felt his heartbeat quicken in time with the drumbeat.

His bride's face was calm and her gaze was blazing amber, keeping him firmly anchored to the Earth, to the Now instead of dwelling on what was and what was to come. His bride was in a wispy, shining silver gown that appeared to be poured onto her. A high slit showed a strong leg that was the same color of milk chocolate of the rest of her silken flesh and the front plunged daringly low over her bosom,  _ **scandalously**_  low in the Western realms, enticingly low. She was so beautiful, so fragrant, so fiery, so…

Their grim faced fathers stepped forward and with careful movements of the ceremonial shears began to cut away the cords binding their arms. Once their arms were free, the Priestess, her mother held the elaborate knot above her head. A high birdlike call was sounded by her and then, his bride pounced on him, seizing his lips hungrily. Gasping, Fitzgerald III of House Grant accepted her kiss and deepened it, cupping her lush behind possessively. An approving purr rumbled in Torani Olivia of Tribe Pope's chest and she looked at him with eyes of tenderness. One of her small fingers circled his trembling lips and she purred again, curling the finger underneath his chin so that their eyes met fully.

"… _ **mine.**_ "

It was the first time he had heard his native language from her. The husky yet musical soft soprano of her voice boldly claiming him sent a hot coil of need deep into his loins, something that she appreciated deeply. The urge to have her right then and there tugged at him but he held back, Not yet. Soon. He would have her soon…

As their custom dictated, Fitzgerald eased her to her bare feet and nuzzled his face into her lower abdomen. The low whimpers he sounded signaled his submission to his Torani, his willingness and desire to be her Mate. Her arms wrapped around him and cradled him possessively, showing her acceptance of his offered self to all gathered.

"As of this night of the 3rd full lunar orb of this thousandth cycle, the marriage alliance between House Grant and Tribe Pope of the Santorans has been witnessed. May the union last to the Pinnacle and be fruitful." Lord Cyrus declared to all before giving the gong a strong blow, sending more raucous jubilation through her people and polite applause from his.

Their lips met again, soft but potently and she urged him to his feet.

"Come, my Toran. There is to be a feast in our honor."

With a nod, Fitzgerald offered her his arm. Smiling, she took it and they exited the ceremonial clearing full of pride, joy, and deep anticipation…

_**/** _

_"…married him off to a savage…absolute_ _**madness** _ _…"_

_"…culled by their women…essentially worship them…it is uncouth yet intriguing…no less chaotic than our society…"_

_"…Lady Vaughn nearly inconsolable…what did she expect? Once she allowed herself to be penetrated by Sir Nichols, all allegiance Fitzgerald had to her was severed and rightfully so…"_

_"…a Western man…a_ _**white** _ _man as her Toran…_ _**unworthy.** _ _.."_

_"…Prod Edison in a sorry state…passed out surrounded by empty wine skins in the pasture lands…his own fault for betraying her…"_

_"…should count himself fortunate that she merely took his hand and not his life…Prod Edison will find another…no one nearly as good but another…"_

_"…new influence…new goods, new lands, new blood…better a betrothal than a blade…their Bond appears to be strong already…"_

The last white flower was removed from her hair and placed within their Knot's oak resting box, a box built by her father Chieftain Elijah. Her mother, Priestess Maya had bathed her and painted the fertility henna right on the line that went from beneath her navel to just above her intimate curls. The silver of the henna matched the removed wedding gown that their bonding Knot now rested proudly on. Olivia was still in disbelief that she had a Toran, a bonding Knot, everything that she had quietly ached for but never thought she would have.

Many Santorani men had offered themselves to her, along with some from their allied tribes but none had proved themselves to be worthy. Before Fitzgerald III, the closest she had ever come to a Toran had been Edison of Tribe Davis but that had failed. She had wanted to surprise him after returning from a successful hunt and had found him in the midst of a passionate romp with a stable girl from the Mandarki that had been captured at the Defiance Gorge battle. The girl had been a true innocent, unaware that her lover had been betrothed. The girl had slapped him and threw herself at Olivia's feet, begging forgiveness and protection that had been granted immediately. Quinn was now her head handmaiden and happy with Huck of the Nedini tribe, a great warrior and inventor. As for Edison, she had taken the hand that had been pleasuring Quinn and scored a deep line into his face so that all would know of his treachery.

After that betrayal, Olivia had sadly concluded that a family, that beautiful and strong babies would not be in her destined path. A Toran for her would not be found. She would be alone for the rest of her mortal Cycle…she had been wrong.

House Grant's overtures had initially dismissed as a trap and then as a jest. Surely, their House, the most prominent and influential in the Western Realms would want nothing to do with their people. They were seen as barbaric, inferior, and as a source of terrifying folklore, both true and exaggerated. Fitzgerald II could not be serious…but he had been.

Fitzgerald III had been presented as an offering in the traditional way, bound by the wrists and stripped bare to the girdle. His trousers had been the royal purple and gold of his House and his feet bare, vulnerable. Fitzgerald II was offering land, trade route access, and his son, his only (legitimate) heir in exchange for a political and militant alliance between their Tribe and his House, medicines, and trade route access. Her parents wanted a Toran for her and had been very intrigued by the idea of such new noble blood for their Tribe. The other Tribes were open to new blood (the myriad and horrid dangers of inbreeding had been learned many cycles before) but they focused on local peoples, not too much variation in appearance or culture. None had dared to cross the Great Stream, the Cobalt River in search of new blood. There had been skirmishes, full fledged invasions that her people had made the river run red with Western blood but a marriage? A bonding? Never. It had never been done…until now.

Fitzgerald III had been brought to her dwelling and placed at her feet. Unprompted, he had made the submission gesture, intriguing her. Not many Westerners bothered to learn about the Santorani nuances, preferring to fear and envy them. When he was allowed to speak, her intrigue became amazement as her native language flowed from him as if he had been born to them. His education had come from a beloved nursemaid that had been his mother's head handmaiden. He was willing to belong to a Santorani woman, to their people because one of their own had nurtured, protected, and guided him for the majority of his mortal Cycle. To Fitzgerald III, they were not inferior. They were not barbaric. They were equals.

Olivia had raised his head and his eyes reminded her of the robin's egg, the blue full of warmth, depth, and loyalty already. For the first time, she had cradled him and he pressed a shaky, tender kiss to her navel, grateful. She had personally freed his hands and gave him a fine tunic to wear, bearing the glyphs of her Tribe, giving him acceptance and protection. The next 2 months had him dwelling with her People, learning more about them and him teaching her about his. Their marriage alliance would have the entire Tribe and its immediate allies crossing the Great Stream and settling onto House Grant's lands, claiming it for them.

To Olivia's dismay and wariness, the society he came from was the polar opposite of hers. Instead of being respected and treated as equals, Western women, with very few exceptions were treated barely better than animals. They were seen as weak, delicate, needing to be culled and only useful as bedwarmers and nursemaids. Fitzgerald III had soothed her, swearing an oath on his mother's grave that he would not change his ways, that he would remain as warm and respectful and loving to her with his people as he behaved with hers.

She had believed him, then.

She still believed him, now.

Hopefully, that trust would not be given in vain…

The heavy door of their bedchamber opened and she turned around. Her Mate was still in his wedding finery and heat blossomed in her lower abdomen as he slowly took in her nude form, the tip of his tongue going across his lips. Stepping into his reach, Olivia moaned as his lips pressed against her left nipple before taking it fully. Fitzgerald moved them backwards and to the left, into their waiting marriage bed. She shuddered with delight as his warm fingers traced the henna path and keened as a gentle digit entered her, curling upwards against her spot. A low whine of protest escaped her as he withdrew the finger but it became a cry of rapture as his head went to her pulsing sex, his mouth setting to work on her. She squirmed and bucked underneath him, burying her hands in his thick curls to guide him where she wanted him most. He was groaning lowly and pressing himself closer as her juices flowed in earnest, taking every drop of her like it was ambrosia.

It didn't take very long for Olivia to find her climax and she let out a full throated yell of her Toran's name, letting all hear of her approval of him, her potent love and burning lust for him. Fitzgerald stood up and tried to catch his breath, his chin and cheeks covered with her nectar. With a fierce growl, Olivia yanked him back to their bed and mounted him, literally tearing at his clothes in an effort to get his skin on hers, his nakedness pressed against hers.

"… _take me, take me, take me_ _ **now!**_ "

" _As my Torani wishes…_ "

His rhythm was driving, demanding yet tender all at once. Olivia squealed as her body yielded to him and he kissed her, letting her taste herself all over his tongue and teeth. She was on her back beneath him and she met him halfway, their hips colliding and grinding as their sweat drenched arousal scented the air with the candles. Fitzgerald cried out as her nails scored his shoulders and she whimpered as his left hand lightly gripped her neck. Their eyes met and she strained towards him, wanting to kiss him more, wanting to lick her glaze from his cheeks, wanting…just wanting. She just wanted him…

A shaky cry escaped her as he swiftly reversed their positions and sat up, slowing his thrusts into a fluid, almost lazy grind. Olivia's eyes drifted shut as the sensations began to overwhelm her and they snapped open again at the scolding swat to her bottom.

" _ **Look at me**_ _…look at me, always…look at me…no hiding_ …"

The robin's egg blue of his eyes had become stormy, like the Great Stream during the late fall tempests and they intoxicated her with their focus, their desire, their love for her. This man loved her, truly loved her…

She loved him back.

She would love him always.


	2. Chapter 2

**CMW2/Trumpetnista:Draftbook Drabble #4 (Follow up to DD #2- Fitz, Olivia, Jake, and dark yet correctly loyal!Tom, Olitz, one sided Olake, GoT-esque period piece, treachery and retribution, AU, NSFW)**

****Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"** **

 

**There's some serious bloodshed in this one (hence the trigger warning tag and you might not want to be eating anything when you get to the part), there's a bit of race and class prejudice in this one, and last but not least, there's an Olitz bathing scene in this one, and I hope you guys dig this piece overall or are respectful if you don't. Mad Love, Jam, and Power Drills, ~*Trump*~**

 

"You've made no secret that you believe the marriage alliance between me and Fitzgerald is foolhardy. I've heard you refer to my people as primates, as savages, as beasts to be put down before we pollute and overrun all of Western society...and yet here you are of your own free will to warn me of a brewing assassination plan led by your own blood brother. Why? Speak your mind, Sir Thomas. No harm will come to you as long as you are completely honest with me."

"...House Stanton has remained loyal to the Court through times of turmoil and peace since the Time of Awakening, the time where you and your ilk dwelt in swamp land while we built our manors, built our armies...regardless of my personal views of your marriage, King Grant has been a good ruler to us during this Cycle and hopefully will remain so beyond it. He has been fair and just to all in our realm, down to the beggars and the filthy whores. And unlike his dearly departed father, he has his loins focused on one woman and one woman only. He has increased food production and he dug a half dozen wells himself. He has given us free access to healers, and has brokered lasting peaces with other barbarian tribes with your assistance. That progress should not be undone so soon. It should not be undone at all. There is peace and security within this realm the likes of which hasn't been seen since the time of my great-great grandfather. Please...Queen Grant, Torani Olivia, protect your husband. Protect yourself. Protect the subjects who have put faith and trust in both of you.  **Protect our peace.** "

"What is your blood brother's endgame? Jacob of House Ballard has no real claim to any position of nobility of his own. He comes from a family of fine forgers. Blades are always in demand, regardless of war or peace and regardless of who wears the crown. He should be content within his position and yet he isn't. What more does he want?"

"... **you.**  You are his endgame. You are what he wants. He saw you during your marriage ceremony and was immediately enraptured. The fact that you occasionally come to his shop personally to have your blades tended to only deepened his lust. You may be a barbarian wench but you are a beautiful one, an intelligent and fierce one. Jacob feels that Fitzgerald III is unworthy of you and weak. He wishes to... _ **tame**_  you, as he frequently tells me and those who frequent the Getty's Tavern."

She seemed to become a statue after that last statement and Thomas swallowed thickly as visible, hellish rage filled her eyes, just as he knew it would. The Santorans were the stuff of legend, of fascination, and of horror. They were a proud people, reclusive unless threatened and they refused to be enslaved, refused to be culled, violated, and conquered. The mere threat of any of it would cause them to mount up and raise hell.

His grandfather had been deployed in the ill fated war against the tribe many moons before and he had come back with stories of the battles. Their blades went through flesh as if the flesh and bone were wet parchment. They tore out soldier's throats with their teeth. They used myriads of spiked booby traps and lit soldiers ablaze while they still breathed. They attacked swiftly from the shadows of the thick forests, waiting until the darkest night to strike. They painted themselves with vibrant inks and preferred the ax over all weapons. Even their younglings had axes, axes that they would wield with as little mercy as one of their fully grown men...or women.

Santorani women would not only join their men on the battlefield, many times they were the leader of the pack. It was another reflection of their domination over the men and the men respected them as if they were equals.

They would strip their dead enemies of anything of value and leave the bodies of the leaders to rot in the open air, their entrails and brains burnt on an alter. Their methods of killing were quick, efficient, and utterly bloody. The bloodier their skin became, the bolder they became on the battlefield, as if they fed off of the tormented souls of their dispatched and dishonored enemies, as well as the noble shedding of their own...

" _Thomas, are you the only one still loyal to my Toran in his band of 6?_ "

Her voice was soft as if she were speaking to an agitated babe at her breast but her eyes...the sheer madness in her eyes...King Grant would be wise to keep his head underneath her skirts and a smile on her face at all times.

"No. Sir Halbert is still a loyal subject, as are Sir Morris and Knave Ethan. I am unsure as to Sir William of House Chambers' loyalty. His loyalty seems to center around devoting his life to Dionysus' practices."

 _"So, Chambers is too drunk to be a threat and the rest of you have pulled the wool over Ballard's eyes quite well. It seems that his band is simply a serpent and not a Hydra. With a Hydra, if one removes a single head, two will replace it, bigger and fiercer. Jacob is the head of a serpent. Remove the head of a serpent, even a venomous one, and the entire body will die._ "

She turned abruptly and a long handled ax was in her hands. The handle was shining, thick oak with layers of bundled cloth and hide to serve as a grip. The blade itself shone like diamond or the water up at Crystal Lake and the edge was ready to inflict wounds, to give punishment and death.

The contrast between it and the rest of her appearance was jarring yet compelling. Her hair had been released from its braids and pins and now fell down to the middle of her back like thick unbraided onyx rope. Her gown was as white as fresh snow, the neckline just as low and daring as her wedding gown. There was no slit to show her leg this time and her feet were bare as they usually were until winter came. At her full height, she was barely taller than a young stable boy but what she lacked in stature, she made up for in resolve, in brilliance, in beauty...

" **Bring him to me.** "

With a bow, Thomas made a hasty retreat to do her bidding. He knew that this day of reckoning would come.

He was just glad that he would not be subject to her wrath or the wrath of the king.

_**/** _

"So, basically, you are saying that you plotted to kill me simply because you do not approve of my choice of bride nor do you approve of her Santoran origins?"

" _You...you treat her as if she were a_ ** _man!_**  You defer to her, you prostrate yourself before a savage regularly! She is a breathing example of everything that is wrong with this kingdom and she deserves to die just much as you do, you spawn of a whore collecting dog!"

"You are saying in front of all of these witnesses that you would rather die than witness such unholiness, that you would prefer go to the Gods in a heartbeat than to continue to live with the knowledge that not only are you unable to fuck her as you please, she is an equal ruler?"

" _ **Yes!**_ "

"Very well, then. I accept your terms."

Those gathered in the throne room let out exclamations of shock as his wife's chosen axe plunged into the battered man's middle. Looking into the swine's widened, green eyes, Fitzgerald slowly began to rotate the weapon, relishing the gurgling screams of his pinned prey as his innards wrapped around the blade. As soon as the blade became stuck, he moved it slowly upwards, causing Ballard to spasm in agony and with a last upthrust of his arms, Fitzgerald was soon covered with a thick deluge of blood, bone, and organs. Ballard's lifeless body fell to the stone floor with an echoing, sodden thump and his intestines fell back within his body cavity like sailor's rope. On the tip of the now scarlet axe blade was the man's slowing heart and he could hear his wine-bearer James of House Novak hit the floor in a dead faint. Lord Cyrus was the only person who was not visibly cowering before him or vomiting or weeping at the carnage. The older man's eyes were wide and focused behind him, focused on where his Torani was sitting on her throne.

Her smile was brilliant and her hands were up under her chin as if she wanted to applaud but knew that she couldn't. Her joy at his decisiveness, especially in defense of their Bond had her giddy as a schoolgirl, literally bouncing in her seat. With a giggle, she stood up and came to him, looking up at him with respect bordering on reverence. Rising onto her tiptoes, Fitzgerald's eyes drifted shut contently as her tongue licked a slow, upward path from the left side of his neck to his temple, cleaning the traitor's blood and ichor away with relish. The executioner's blade was dropped and she threw herself into his embrace, rubbing against him to get as much of the mess upon her as possible...

" **There is nothing wrong with having a different opinion. There is nothing wrong with expressing that different opinion. Insolence will not be tolerated, however nor will any slight towards my wife or her people. They are equal citizens in our lands and will be respected as such. The price you pay for either infraction is death.** _ **Understood?**_ "

" _Yes, Your Grace_..." the ones in the throne room chorused, already going back into their normal, various activities and starting the clean up.

**"I want no trace of him left in this manor within the hour. Remove his head and leave it for the vultures in the ceremonial clearing. The rest of him and all of his belongings are to go into the main square fire. He is to be remembered as a traitor and treated as such by the scribes. Olivia and I will be retiring now. Unless there is an attack, do not disturb us until Zenith Sun."**

_**/** _

The evidence of her Toran's earlier actions had been washed from the both of them ages ago. Now, their time in the baths was for their own leisure, their own silent and mutual pleasure.

When Olivia had approached him with Lord Stanton's information, he had become a warrior in front of her very eyes. The aura of power that typically surrounded her Fitzgerald had deepened and became tinged with something that made her loins pulse in time with her quickened heartbeat. Initially, he had requested for her to stay in the quiet safety of their quarters but her firm declaration that she would be joining him in the throne room had done away with that.

She was still learning about her mate's culture, day by day. Among her people, the treachery Jacob had shown would not have gotten past the first concrete declarations. He would've been killed immediately and his bones cursed so that he would not be able to cross over to Utopia in his afterlife. In the West, there was an element of ritual, of the application of written laws before executions. The accused was brought before the King and the Court to plead their case or in Jacob's case, stand firm in their delusions, their wrongdoings.

Had she realized what the swine was thinking while he sharpened and refined her weapons (including the ax that Fitzgerald had used to end his wicked life), she would've slaughtered him herself. Disgusting. Jacob had proven to be a petty and small man, someone who was the walking equivalent of a leech. The only man that she wanted lusting after her, the only man that was worthy of lusting after her was the man attached to the scalp she was gently massaging.

Fitzgerald's right cheek was resting against her bosom and his strong arms held her fast to him, her back propped against the warmed stone edge of the pool.

"... _you must think me a beast._ " she remarked softly.

" _ **What?**_ "

"Fitzgerald, did you not observe the reactions to my reaction earlier? Lord Cyrus looked at me as if I were the Kraken's offspring and..."

He raised his head and propped himself up on his hands to loom over her, forcing her to look up into his eyes. A hot shiver of delight went through her as his hands eased her onto his pulsing cock and he began a fluid, near lazy rhythm within her.

"You are not a beast. There is not a single thing wrong with you. Not to me."

"But..."

She squeaked as her nipples were pinched hard before they were caressed with gentle fingertips.

"Do not argue with me on this subject, my Torani. You are divine. You are brilliant. You are loyal and **you...are.** _ **..mine!**_ "

As her mate's hips drove deeply into her, Olivia held onto him tightly with all of her limbs and let a dreamy smile curve her lips.

Even if she were a beast, a monster, a savage, it was okay.

People could dub her whatever negative term they wished to.

Her Fitzgerald loved her.

Her Fitzgerald respected her.

Her Fitzgerald needed her.

No one else mattered.


	3. Chapter 3

**CMW2/Trumpetnista: Draftbook Drabble #13 (Follow up to D.D.s #2 and 4, GoT-esque period piece, Fitz, Olivia, Abby, Mellie, Andrew, treachery and retribution, one-sided Mew, established Olitz, ride or die, NSFW)**

****Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"** **

 

 

 

**Excerpts from Draftbook Drabble #2 and #4**

_"…married him off to a savage…absolute_ _**madness** _ _…"_

_"…culled by their women…essentially worship them…it is uncouth yet intriguing…no less chaotic than our society…"_

_"…Lady Vaughn nearly inconsolable…what did she expect? Once she allowed herself to be penetrated by Sir Nichols, all allegiance Fitzgerald had to her was severed and rightfully so…"_

"… ** _There is nothing wrong with having a different opinion. There is nothing wrong with expressing that different opinion. Insolence will not be tolerated, however nor will any slight towards my wife or her people. They are equal citizens in our lands and will be respected as such. The price you pay for either infraction is death._** _ **Understood?**_ "

" _Yes, Your Grace_..."

* * *

 

"Her ultimate fate is in your hands, Olivia. While her mind is obviously skewed, it is also sound and she must face the consequences of her actions. Had her plot succeeded, the Mixture would've certainly caused you to miscarry for that is what it was created to do. In the Time of Darkness, women were routinely violated by the invading bands and some could not bear the idea of giving birth to the babes of the monsters who harmed them. The Mixture was created by an elite group of healers to give the defiled ones freedom, comfort, and in higher doses, painless death. She acquired the recipe and ingredients from one of the Sisters of the Hill, claiming to be violated by a nomadic herdsman. They swear that if they had known the truth, they would've removed her head and entrails themselves. Their loyalty has always been to the crown, House Grant, and you are a personal favorite of theirs."

"I understand, Abigail. What are the options for her other than a permanent stay in the dungeons?"

"Execution or Exile. Sir Nichols is pleading for the latter, offering to leave with her and take on guardianship of her for the rest of her days. He truly, deeply loves her and it is a shame. The Lady Vaughn has always had an icy void within her soul, one filled with ambition and greed. She once tried to sink her claws into my beautiful David but he saw through her easily. It is only through the grace of the Gods and the recklessness of her cunt that the King was able to escape her before Fitzgerald II forced a marriage between them."

"Indeed…"

Snow crunched under the soles of her boots as Olivia walked with Lady Abigail Rosen, the lead cook on staff and a friend as dear to her as Quinn, her head handmaiden. The brassy redhead had been the one to apprehend the one who had attempted to poison her breakfast with the Mixture, a young girl named Amanda of the Tanner clan. They were a family of goat herders and in an effort to secure a better future for them, they had sent their daughter to court to find a rich man to wed. Unfortunately, she had fallen in with Sir William of House Chambers and his debauched ilk. The Lady Millicent Vaughn had then taken the used and vulnerable peasant girl underneath her wing and wove an intricate web of vicious deceit.

According to her, Fitzgerald III had been sold to the Santorans against his will and had been bewitched by Olivia to do her bidding. The only way to free him, the only way for him to be the true King with a proper wife by his side was to be rid of not only Olivia but of the demon baby inside of her. Amanda, having been raised in ignorance and sharing the negative feelings many still had about the Santorans, had agreed immediately to the mission.

Were it not for Abigail's sharp eyes and deep loyalty…

With a shiver that had nothing to do with the January cold, Olivia rested protective hands on her bump, feeling the stirring of the baby through her skin and the white velvet and rabbit's fur gown she had on. An overcoat in House Grant's colors of purple and gold swirled around her ankles as she walked and her onyx hair was loose about her shoulders, its fullness keeping her ears away from the chill.

"What say the King?"

"He wants her dead. He wants her dead for betraying him with Sir Nichols. He wants her dead for using Sir Nichols since despite the scandal, he still considers the man to be his blood brother and more than anything, he wants her dead for putting you and the little one in harm's way. As what happened with the Ballard twat proves, mercy and compassion go out of the window with him when it becomes clear that you have been endangered."

"My Fitzgerald's capacity for hatred is only surpassed by his capacity to love. I must speak with him on this matter. Do you know where he is?"

"After seeing about the Lady Vaughn in the dungeons, he retired to your bedchambers. Be mindful, my sister. He was in a very black mood and may not be open to any sort of discussion."

"Don't worry, Abigail. I know exactly how to Handle him."

_**/** _

" _I should have done it myself! That dark wench stole_ _ **everything**_ _from me! Everything that was rightfully_ _ **mine!**_ _Your whorish fool of a father gave you away to a savage and now, the royal line stands to be tainted by the blood of_ _ **murderers!**_ _The Santorans are nothing but a pox upon the world and I only hope that someday someone will teach them their rightful places…"_

The opening of the door broke through the hate spewed from the disgraced Lady Vaughn but Fitzgerald made no move to open his eyes. Rage had drained him of his energy. It had burned like flames in his gut and it took everything he had not to throttle the crazed bitch. How dare she try and hurt his Torani, his beloved Olivia! How dare she conspire to murder the child that he already loved with all of his heart! If it were solely up to him, then Millicent's head would be rotting next to the Skull of Jacob Ballard…

The furs and bedding were moved and the sweet scent of his mate filled his nostrils, making him open his eyes to slivers. Olivia was round and ripe with pregnancy, the glow from the fire nowhere near as potent as the glow that she carried with their child. Oh, their precious child…the child they had made out of deep love and blistering passion.

The Mixture could've not only taken away their child but killed Olivia, too. He remembered learning about it from his mother and how only beasts and cowards forced themselves on a woman. Lady Dorcas Grant knew that it was too late to save his father from his vices so she had made sure to train Fitzgerald III to see a woman as an equal and her sex as a gift given…

"Olivia…"

" _Shh, my Toran…let me tend to you…let me soothe you…_ "

Fitzgerald sighed deeply as she latched onto his neck, kissing and suckling, the heat in his Gut coiling lower now. His hands went to her plump behind, squeezing fondly and he gave himself over to her fully. Millicent had claimed that Olivia had bewitched him and he agreed. She had bewitched him not with the power of the Gods or a potion but simply with her loyal love. Olivia had come into his life and had given it warmth again, color and a sense of purpose. She had intoxicated him with her deep wisdom, enchanted him with her warrior's heart, and addicted him to her sweetness. He could never get enough of her touch, her taste, the sweet silky pinch of her quim…

" _ **Ohhh…**_ "

…and the blistering warmth of her mouth.

Fitzgerald's head fell back into the pillows and a full body shudder of delight made its way along his nerve endings. Olivia let out a pleased mew and established a slow rhythm, back and forth, her tongue twining over him like climbing ivy. Her cool fingertips went to the hypersensitive flesh of his inner thighs and he growled as she suckled on his sac, licking a messy trail upwards over the thick veins…

"… _you are divine, my little love…you inflame me like no other…_ "

In response to his praise, she rose up over him and took him inside her dripping core, a delighted cry escaping her as he throbbed within her channel. Her hands went firmly to his chest and her hips began to move in serpentine movements, building up to a steady riding pace. Electric bliss boiled in his veins and he strove with her, their hips meeting and grinding together.

" _ **Mine!**_ " she growled as she raked her nails over his chest.

" _Yours…all yours…no one else's…_ "

" _ **She can't have you!**_ "

" _No, she can't!_ "

" _You are mine! I will not share you! I will not let anyone steal you!_ _ **My**_ _husband! Mine!_ _ **Mine!**_ "

Sitting up, he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back. A snarling cry of rapture echoed throughout the room (and possibly the rest of the floor) as he marked his Livvie boldly.

" _ **My**_ _Livvie… **my**  baby in you…you're just as mine as I am yours, Olivia…_"

" _ **Yes! Yours!**_ "

" _ **Mine!**_ "

" _ **Fitz-ger-ald!**_ "

_**/** _

**2 Months Later…**

"I loved her with all of my heart and soul. I truly did…but she…there was nothing left of the Millicent that I knew. Perhaps the Millicent I knew was nothing but an illusion, an ideal that my own desires created. I bring you her head, Your Grace. She was…she was a monster. Nothing but ice and hate in her heart. She was too dangerous to be kept alive and too cunning for me to contain for much longer. Had I not dispatched her, she would have certainly returned to this realm breathing murder against you, Torani Olivia, and your young ones. Your Annabelle and Fitzgerald IV."

"You did the right thing, my brother."

"You still consider me to be your brother, Fitzgerald? Even after…"

"Like the winds scour away the mountains, so does time scour away the pain, Andrew. Welcome home."


End file.
